Chapter 2

Two weeks gone! Two weeks wasted.
One  week to  reach Askone, at  the extreme  borders of which  the vigilantwarships  speared out  to meet  him in  converging numbers.  Whatever theirdetection system was, it worked ?and well.
They  sidled  him  in  slowly, without  a  signal,  maintaining their  colddistance,  and pointing  him  harshly towards  the central  sun  of Askone.
Ponyets could have handled them at a pinch. Those ships were holdovers fromthe  dead-and-gone Galactic  Empire ? but they  were sports  cruisers, notwarships; and  without nuclear  weapons, they were so  many picturesque andimpotent ellipsoids.  But Eskel  Gorov was a  prisoner in their  hands, andGorov  was   not  a  hostage  to  lose.   The  Askonians  must  know  that.
And then  another week ?a  week to wind a weary  way through the clouds ofminor officials  that formed  the buffer between  the Grand Master  and theouter world. Each little  sub-secretary required soothing and conciliation.
Each required careful and  nauseating milking for the flourishing signaturethat was the pathway to the next official one higher up.
For  the  first  time, Ponyets  found  his  trader's identification  papersuseless.
I Now, at last, the Grand Master was on the other side of the Guard-flankedgilded door ?and two weeks had gone.
Gorov was  still a prisoner and Ponyets' cargo  rotted useless in the holdsof his ship.
The Grand Master was  a small man; a small man with a balding head and verywrinkled  face, whose  body seemed  weighed down  to motionlessness  by thehuge, glossy fur collar about his neck.
His fingers moved on  either side, and the line of armed men backed away tofor  a passage,  along which  Ponyets strode  to the  foot of the  Chair ofState.
"Don't speak,"  snapped the Grand Master,  and Ponyets' opening lips closedtightly.
"That's right," the Askonian ruler relaxed visibly, "I can't endure uselesschatter. You cannot threaten  and I won't abide flattery. Nor is there roomfor injured  complaints. I have lost count of  the times you wanderers havebeen warned that your  devil's machines are not wanted anywhere in Askone.""Sir," said Ponyets, quietly, "there is no attempt to justify the trader inquestion. It  is not  the policy of  traders to intrude where  they are notwanted. But the Galaxy is great, and it has happened before that a boundaryhas   been  trespassed   unwittingly.   It  was   a  deplorable   mistake.""Deplorable,  certainly," squeaked  the  Grand Master.  "But mistake?  Yourpeople on  Glyptal IV  have been bombarding  me with pleas  for negotiationsince  two hours  after  the sacrilegious  wretch was  seized. I  have beenwarned  by   them  of  your  own  coming  many   times  over.  It  seems  awell-organized  rescue campaign. Much  seems to  have been anticipated  ?alittle too much for mistakes, deplorable or otherwise."The Askonian's black eyes were scornful. He raced on, "And are you traders,flitting from  world to world like  mad little butterflies, so  mad in yourown right that you can land on Askone's largest world, in the center of itssystem,  and consider it  an unwitting  boundary mixup? Come,  surely not."Ponyets winced  without showing it.  He said, doggedly, "If  the attempt totrade was deliberate, your Veneration, it was most injudicious and contraryto the strictest regulations of our Guild.""Injudicious,  yes," said  the  Askonian, curtly.  "So much  so,  that yourcomrade is likely to lose life in payment."Ponyets' stomach knotted. There was no irresolution there. He said, "Death,your Veneration, is so absolute and irrevocable a phenomenon that certainlythere must be some alternative."There was  a pause before the  guarded answer came, "I  have heard that theFoundation is rich.""Rich? Certainly.  But our  riches are that  which you refuse  to take. Ournuclear goods are worth?
"Your goods  are worthless in  that they lack the  ancestral blessing. Yourgoods  are  wicked  and  accursed in  that  they  lie  under the  ancestralinterdict."  The  sentences  were intoned;  the  recitation  of a  formula.
The Grand  Master's eyelids  dropped, and he  said with meaning,  "You havenothing else of value?"The meaning  was lost  on the trader,  "I don't understand. What  is it youwant?"The Askonian's  hands spread apart, "You  ask me to trade  places with you,and make known to you my wants. I think not. Your colleague, it seems, mustsuffer the punishment set for sacrilege by the Askonian code. Death by gas.
We are  a just people. The  poorest peasant, in like  case, would suffer nomore. I, myself, would suffer no less."Ponyets mumbled hopelessly, "Your  Veneration, would it be permitted that Ispeak to the prisoner?""Askonian law," said the Grand Master coldly, "allows no communication witha condemned man."Mentally,  Ponyets held  his  breath, "Your  Veneration,  I ask  you to  bemerciful towards a man's soul, in the hour when his body stands forfeit. Hehas been separated from spiritual consolation in all the time that his lifehas been in danger.  Even now, he faces the prospect of going unprepared tothe bosom of the Spirit that rules all."The Grand  Master said  slowly and suspiciously,  "You are a  Tender of theSoul?"Ponyets  dropped a  humble  head, "I  have been  so  trained. In  the emptyexpanses of  space, the wandering traders need men  like myself to care forthe  spiritual  side of  a  life  so given  over  to  commerce and  worldlypursuits."The Askonian ruler sucked  thoughtfully at his lower lip. "Every man shouldprepare his soul for  his journey to his ancestral spirits. Yet I had neverthought you traders to be believers."